“This is my winter song. December never felt so long. Cause you’re not where you belong… inside my arms.” -Ingrid Michaelson “Winter Song”
December is her month. The month of growing happiness, the month of pure fear, the month of shattering grief. The month in which I held her, inside and outside. The month in which her heart stopped beating inside me. The month in which she felt my love, and I felt her life. December is the month that showed me that sorrow visits us all, disaster strikes everywhere, and my perfect plan is not the destiny’s rulebook.
December belongs to her and I do not know what to do. There’s nothing I can do for her, now, except love the daughter she sent me, and be the best mom I can be in her honor. I don’t know if I should bury the ashes under the gravestone, or keep them by my bedside a little longer. Sometimes I want to bury them, so that I can visit my daughter there and it is “our” time, and ours alone. My time to remember her, and thank her, for her endless gifts.
December belongs to her and December will never, ever be the same.
Approaching the one year anniversary of her birth and death…